Nicholas Smith - Warriors

“Come on!” Michael yelled.

He nearly slid down the ladder.

When his boots hit the ground, he took off running. By the time he reached the launch bay, it had already opened. A platform lowered.

A figure in a Hell Diver suit emerged on crutches. A more slender Hell Diver followed.

Michael had stopped a few feet from the platform, his heart about to burst.

A woman emerged in the launch bay wearing a hazard suit, one hand on her swollen belly.

“Tin!” she called out.

Miles, Ton, and Victor all emerged with her, but they parted to allow another diver out of the launch bay. This one was missing an arm.

Dressed in full armor, the legendary king of the Vanguard Islands was the first to walk down the ramp and set foot on African soil. Michael stared in disbelief.

After all the horror they had experienced, this seemed too good to be true. In his years as a Hell Diver, he rarely saw happy endings.

“Is it really you?” Michael asked.

“You just going to stand there all teary-eyed?” X asked. “I figured you’d be a little happier to see us and this bucket of rust!”

Two months after the machines invaded the Vanguard Islands, the rigs were starting to look like home. Not the old version of home on the Hive , or when the sky people first landed and lived with the Cazadores. Repairing the rigs had allowed the people to build a new home. A home inspired by the diverse survivors ferried in on the airship from Mount Kilimanjaro, as well as the survivors from Rio de Janeiro, and all the sky people and Cazadores.

X stood on the rooftop of the capitol tower with his dog, looking out over the kingdom he was in charge of rebuilding, and all the people whose lives were his responsibility.

To help the transition with all the new citizens of the islands, each group had been granted its own rig, a place they could make their own. The Cazadores and the sky people had lost significant portions of their populations in the attack from the defectors and in the battles with the skinwalkers.

With the survivors from multiple locations, the sky people had reached their highest numbers in the past two decades. And while several of the rigs had been damaged beyond repair, there was plenty of room on the others.

He trained his binoculars on the trading-post rig, still under construction. Scaffolding and ladders clung to the exterior, where a small army of workers helped rebuild the place that brought all these cultures together to share traditional foods, clothing, goods, and ideas handed down from generation to generation since the great war.

A distant bell chimed, notifying the militia and Cazador soldiers that a ship had returned. His hip radio crackled with a message from Lieutenant Wynn.

X pressed the transmit button. “Copy, Lieutenant.”

“General Forge has returned with Raven’s Claw from their raiding mission,” Wynn reported.

X raised the binos again. Two militia war boats pulled away from the marina below and sped east, their mufflers chugging. Lieutenant Wynn piloted the one that had been el Pulpo’s. He had fought valiantly against the machines, and although they lost Elysium in the battle, Wynn had survived with a handful of his best soldiers.

The two war boats sped through calm waters toward a vessel at the eastern edge of the islands. X zoomed in on the whale-skull figurehead jutting from the warship’s prow.

And Raven’s Claw wasn’t alone. With it were two smaller ships General Forge had discovered and repaired.

They would join the fleet X had ordered rebuilt—one of his first decrees since their victories in Aruba and Tanzania. The machines and the skinwalkers were defeated, but that didn’t mean there were no other threats out there. He had learned that hard lesson over his lifetime. You could never let your guard down. Not in a world of wastelands and monsters.

Everywhere X looked, his people were rebuilding, preparing for the future.

A fort of sandbags protected three militia guards holding sentry at a machine-gun nest. On an adjacent rig, crops were being sown in the soil that some farmers had salvaged from the attack.

X walked with Miles along the railing built around the airship’s rooftop, taking in the view. Ton and Victor shadowed him, spears in hand, ever ready to die for him if it came to that.

They stopped at a platform overlooking the western islands.

In the distance, an oil tanker had dropped anchor at a new marina built around one of the rigs. The ship had returned from the Outrider with a supply the skinwalkers had barely tapped.

It wasn’t just oil they needed. The crops had been severely damaged in the attack by the machines. It would take a year to get back to full food production. In the meantime, they were relying on supplies brought back from Africa, and the fleet of fishing trawlers was working overtime.

The boats were out there now, hauling up the day’s catch. There would be enough for every mouth. X would make sure of that.

He turned the binos on their true savior.

The Hive , renamed the Vanguard. The airship sat on the platform Samson and Rodger had built months earlier. But it was no longer secured by beams and bolts. The airship was back in service, and they were going to keep it battle ready just in case they needed it again.

“She’s like you—an Immortal,” a voice called out.

Magnolia smiled when X turned. Her hair had grown back, even where her scalp had been charred. It was dyed a light blue, like the water. A good contrast to the matte-black Hell Diver armor she still wore from an early-morning training with the thirty new recruits.

“When I die, you’re all going to feel stupid for calling me that,” he said. “I can see the tombstone now: ‘ Here lies the Immortal. ’ ”

She smiled back. “You can’t die, X. If you try, I’ll drag you back, kicking and screaming.”

“Yeah, there’s too much work for me to die, which, I’m guessing, is why you’re here.”

“You’re right. Raven’s Claw has returned and—”

“I saw it,” he interrupted. “Looks like they found two new ships, which is a good start, but building a new armada will take years and many trips to the wastes.”

“That’s not the only reason I’m here.”

“Oh?”

“General Forge has called a council meeting in an hour,” she said. “He found something on his journey. Must be classified.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon,” X said. “Thanks.”

Magnolia trotted off, but he stayed on the rooftop to enjoy a few minutes of sunshine. It always helped him feel better, but today it wasn’t meant to be.

A cloud shadow crept across the roof, blocking out the sun for a moment.

X left the rooftop with his escort of two men and a dog. The walk through the great hall allowed him to pay respects in passing to many they had lost.

Rodger had been busy carving wooden busts over the past few months to honor the fallen.

He was here now, chisel in hand, standing on one foot and a peg leg. The mangled foot had been amputated at the ankle, but he still had the other and two of the toes.

Rodger tucked the chisel into his leather apron.

“What do you think?” he asked.

X stepped up to examine the statue of Captain Les Mitchells. The tall man stood with his hands cupped behind his back, his tuft of red hair seeming to blow in the wind.

“You outdid yourself, Rodgeman,” X said.

“Can’t dive anymore, so I’ve got to do something with myself when I’m not working for Tin.”

Rodger wasn’t the only retired diver. While he and Michael still trained the new Hell Diver recruits and volunteers, they were part of the reconstruction team, with Michael taking over for Samson as chief engineer. Soon, Michael would add another title to his résumé: father.